Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves TownDoctorow, Cory
Science
Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town
Doctorow, Cory
Internet -- Fiction; Science fiction; Toronto (Ont.) -- Fiction
Which may or may not have been true -- it certainly sounded plausible to
Alan's lay ear -- but it didn't change the fact that once they powered
up the third box, the other two seized up and died. The blinking network
lights fell still, and as Kurt hauled out an old VT-100 terminal and
plugged it into the serial ports on the backs of his big, ugly,
bestickered, and cig-burned PC cases, it became apparent that they had
ceased to honor all requests for routing, association, deassociation,
DHCP leases, and the myriad of other networking services provided for by
the software.
"It's practically solid-state," Kurt said, nearly *shouted*, after he'd
powered down the third box and found that the other two -- previously
routing and humming along happily -- refused to come back up into their
known-good state. He gave Alan a dirty look, as though his insistence on
preflighting were the root of their problems.
The street-kid who'd spoken up had jumped when Kurt raised his voice,
then cringed away. Now as Kurt began to tear around the shop, looking
through boxes of CDs and dropping things on the floor, the kid all but
cowered, and the other three all looked down at the table.
"I'll just reinstall," Kurt said. "That's the beauty of these
things. It's a standard distro, I just copy it over, and biff-bam, it'll
come right back up. No problem. Take me ten minutes. We've got plenty of
time."
Then, five minutes later, "Shit, I forgot that this one has a different
mo-bo than the others."
"Mo-bo?" Alan said, amused. He'd spotted the signs of something very
finicky gone very wrong and he'd given up any hope of actually doing the
demo, so he'd settled in to watch the process without rancor and to
learn as much as he could.
"Motherboard," Kurt said, reaching for a spool of blank CDs. "Just got
to patch the distribution, recompile, burn it to CD, and reboot, and
we're on the road."
Ten minutes later, "Shit."
"Yes?" Alan said.
"Back off, okay?"
"I'm going to call them and let them know we're going to be late."
"We're *not* going to be late," Kurt said, his fingers going into claws
on the keyboard.
"We're already late," Alan said.
"Shit," Kurt said.
"Let's do this," Alan said. "Let's bring down the two that you've got
working and show them those, and explain the rest."
They'd had a fight, and Kurt had insisted, as Alan had suspected he
would, that he was only a minute or two away from bringing everything
back online. Alan kept his cool, made mental notes of the things that
went wrong, and put together a plan for avoiding all these problems the
next time around.
"Is there a spare?" Alan said.
Kurt sneered and jerked a thumb at his workbench, where another junction
box sat, bunny-ear antennae poking out of it. Alan moved it into his
tub. "Great," he said. "Tested, right?"
"All permutations tested and ready to go. You know, you're not the boss
around here."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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